


Best Left Unspoken

by RainySpringMorning



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Humor, Mercy Frey, Mild Sexual Content, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-06
Updated: 2015-11-06
Packaged: 2018-04-30 06:12:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5153231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainySpringMorning/pseuds/RainySpringMorning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mercy and Marcurio apparently think that the bedroom is the best place to have a long-overdue argument about something they always argue about that they'll probably never stop arguing about.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Best Left Unspoken

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sunnyautumnmorning](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunnyautumnmorning/gifts).



“Your silence is deafening.”

Mercy raised her head from Marcurio’s shoulder and met his liquid amber gaze. The corner of his mouth crooked in a slight smile and she stretched up to kiss those lips.

“What are you thinking about?” he ventured, breaking the kiss, running a palm down the length of her spine, caressing the supple flesh further down under the quilt. Mercy wriggled away as his teasing hand became ticklish, and her giggles broke off at a breathy moan at his wandering fingers.

“Tell me or I’ll stop.”

“Pshaw!” Mercy slid backwards, pulling the quilt with her, and bundled the ends up under her neck as she knelt to open the clasp on her knapsack to retrieve the object she had found earlier. “If you really want to know so badly,” she said, tossing it onto the bed next to where Marcurio lay stretched out, bronze skin dark and gleaming like polished maple against the faded white of the bedsheet. He picked it up and stretched across the bed to hold it into the light of the candelabra, and Mercy sat down beside him.

“It’s a key of some kind,” Mercy explained. “I found it… well, _where_ I found it doesn’t really matter. But isn’t it pretty?” The copper metal contrasted boldly with the stark black of the fancy pommel set with green gems shaped like petals. Marcurio nodded slowly and Mercy recognized the face of the scholar lost in concentration.

“I don’t recognize its origins. Ancient Nordic, Dwemer, Ayleid, not even Falmer,” he said after a while. “Where did you say you found it?”

“I didn’t.” There must have been something strange in her tone because Marcurio looked up at her, his gaze questioning. “It…it was my father’s,” she admitted quietly, her throat thickening with emotion. Marcurio didn’t have to ask _which_ father she meant, and he leaned into her reassuringly.

“Here,” he handed it back and Mercy took it; the metal was warm where his fingers had touched it. “Hang onto it. I’ll take a look at it tomorrow before I leave.”

“I wish you didn’t have to go,” Mercy complained, shifting so she lay stretched out on her back next to him. He rested his weight on his elbows and looked down at her. “You were gone for so long all last year. Can’t you… I don’t know, just take a break for a little longer? Brynjolf won’t be home until after next week.”

“It’s only a few months,” Marcurio said. “And I’ll be home in time for your birthday. Waiting makes it sweeter, doesn’t it?” he added with a knowing look. Mercy grinned; she had to admit he was right there.

“Still…” she muttered, reaching up to cup his cheek, running her thumb along the angled bone sloping around his eye. “It’s dangerous out there. And who knows what this guy might be like? He might leave you in Blackreach with all those terrible creatures.”

“Shall I bring back one of their heads for you?” he joked. “Mercy, I can look after myself. Don’t worry about me. It’s you who’s living the risky lifestyle, being a thief and all.”

“It’s not risky,” Mercy countered stubbornly. “Brynjolf never lets me go on a job by myself anymore. Ever since I found that hall with the birds and everything… you remember the place we visited.”

“Didn’t I tell you to stay away from that place?” Marcurio said sharply.

“Oh, not you, too!” Mercy said exasperatedly, rolling onto her side, back a wall to him. “I’ve had enough of being told what I can and cannot do. If I want to explore some old ruin, then I can damn well explore it! I’m not a little girl anymore.”

“No. Instead, you’re some rebellious young woman who doesn’t rein in her spirit and drops headlong into trouble all the time,” he corrected. “Trouble that I’ve had to pull you out of and cover up so Brynjolf wouldn’t know.” Mercy rolled her eyes, not bothering to reply. It stung slightly, mostly because it was true.

Marcurio’s lips brushed her ear, his warm breath making her shiver. “I take it that you not answering me means I’m right?”

“I never said you were _right_.” She burrowed deeper into the mattress, ignoring his warm skin rubbing against hers and how it made her flush virginally. “I just don’t think there’s anything wrong with being spirited.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being spirited,” Marcurio said with a laugh. “That’s one of the things about you that I like. It’s how stubborn and reckless you can be that worries me.”

Mercy flared hotly and she flipped over to look Marcurio in the eye; she was close enough to see his pupils dilate in surprise at her suddenness. “And _you_ worry me, going off on these adventures with gods-know-who for gods-know-how-long into gods-know-where! I thought you were a wizard-”

“I am,” he interrupted calmly but Mercy just spoke over him.

“…not some dungeon-delver! You’re supposed to be a master scholar, studying artifacts and writing books about them.”

Mercy snorted indignantly as Marcurio pressed a finger over her lips to quiet her; ignoring her flaming glare, he said with an impressive measure of patience and humour: “I have to have something to write about, so I need artifacts And, those artifacts have to come from somewhere, namely… dungeon-delving.”

“Well, can’t someone just... get them for you?”

“You’re suggesting that I _pay_ someone to explore some fantastic ruin and listen in envious boredom as they detail everything I missed out on?” he quirked an eyebrow. “No. No, I couldn’t give that up.”

“Then what about me?” Mercy challenged. “You’d give me up before you gave up your stupid adventuring?”

“Would you give up thieving?” He didn’t even bat an eye, and Mercy went quite still, her lips pressed together in frustration. He always knew _exactly_ how to win an argument. It wasn’t that Mercy liked to argue; she admittedly liked it when things went as she wanted or worked out in a way that made everyone happy. She didn’t like to have to settle for something that she wasn’t content with, even in the slightest.

“I didn’t choose to be the daughter of two thieves,” Mercy stated firmly. “And I don’t know what it’s like to _not_ be a thief. And here Brynjolf wanted me to be the leader of that lot. He raised me to be Guild Master.”

“But you said no. You made a choice that you thought would benefit you.”

“Or maybe it’s just because I was scared of responsibility. That I _am_ scared,” she muttered. “I’m only nineteen.”

“There are a lot of nineteen-year-olds out there who are afraid of responsibility,” Marcurio said comfortingly. “But there are just as many who gained their family inheritance and are farmers, or mercenaries, or soldiers in the army. I was younger than you when I was first hired to accompany an adventurer to Raldbthar, remember that?”

Mercy nodded. “What are you trying to tell me, Marcurio?”

Leaning down, he pressed his lips to her forehead. “That I will give up neither you nor dungeon-delving,” he said against her skin. “And that I will be careful, and that I want you to be careful, too.”

“Fine,” Mercy pouted. She curled her fingers into Marcurio’s hair and pulled his head down to hers, grasping his lower lip between her teeth teasingly. “But you have a dungeon to finish delving before morning light.”

“Is that _really_ the best you could come up with?”

“Are you _complaining?_ ”

“No, but sometimes your silence can be golden,” he chuckled, pulling her onto him and reclaiming her lips.


End file.
